


Five Past Moments in Yara Greyjoy's Life

by FunkyClown



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other, Time Skips, and her relationship to herself and others is interesting to me to speculate on, based on show canon sorry no books here, missing past scenes, set preseries, sibling relationships, some sexual content but nothing all that explicit, yara is very interesting to me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyClown/pseuds/FunkyClown
Summary: Past moments in Yara Greyjoy's life concerning her relationship with her family, duty, and grief.





	1. Age Five

_Age Five_  
Yara had been in the room when Theon was born. Her brothers were kept outside as she was brought in with the wet nurses and midwives. 

“It’s your duty you have so it's a duty you will know." Her father told her. She was excited to do something her brothers could not. So often it was them kicking her out of their play; she wanted to shine the swords and axes and play games with them throwing rocks at dead fish on the beaches. But even here she was shoved and put off to the side as women with hot pans of water and sweating arms doted on her mother. 

When her mother started screaming she weaseled her way through to try and see her. She thought of how the men would grunt and curse when they were sparing each other; so this was what duty was? When you spat and cursed and screamed. She was excited, but also scared. Pain might have been duty but pain also hurt. She didn't want her mother to hurt, even if she had too.

It felt like forever that her mother was on the bed with her legs twisted upward and face in a grimace. She was pushed aside more than once as women in bloodied clothes reached for more sheets soaked in hot water. 

"Come look, Yara." A woman (who had always slipped her extra sugared bread) lifted her upward to view down upon her mother. Then it was all over quickly. In one large bellow, the baby left her mother's body. In a snip the cord connecting them was cut and the baby pulled away. Squirming and crying it was dunked in the hot water. Yara scoffed at how it splashed; to waste such a treat as a steaming hot bath.

"Little Yara, come close. Come and see your baby brother." Her mother beckoned her as the baby was brought back to her arms. She tried not to twitch her nose too much at the smell of all the blood as she stood next to her mother, but soon it left her mind. 

Wrapped in dark grey blankets of the softest she'd seen, was the pink bald skin of her brother. He still whimpered and cried, but when put to her mother's breast he quieted. She was fascinated watching him; all lumpy and red and sweating. She couldn't believe her older brothers ever looked that way. She reached out with a finger and poked at his belly. 

"No do not prod at his stomach, he could get ill." Her mother scolded.

"Maron once pinched me so hard I had a mark for weeks. It must be really weak." Yara moved her finger away.

"Babies are weak, Yara. They need protection until they grow up." Her mother ran her fingertips across the dome of his head, an exhausted smile on her face. "And babies are not 'its'. His name is Theon." 

"Theon." She repeated back. With more care, she reached up again and put her hand on his stomach. She could feel his breathing, it felt too powerful for his small squished body to handle. His little fists reached down to her hand and scratched against her skin. "Look, he knows his name!" She squealed. "He scratched like a cat."

Then her father opened the door and strode over to the bed. Kissing his wife on her forehead, he looked out to the window to the sea beyond Pyke. "Strong waves today. That means strong blood in this one." His salt-dried face cracked in a rare smile as he picked up his son. She had never seen him happier. She stood on her toes, yearning to see her baby brother’s face again.


	2. Age Eleven

_Age Eleven_  
“You need to aim better if you want to actually hit anything!” Yara jeered at Theon as he missed yet another fish skeleton. In a huff he kicked the sand which blew right into his face, causing him with even more anger to rub his eyes. It was only early morning and the piers along the shore had been swarming for hours before sunlight. Beside them, Yara and Theon were wasting time before being called for their duties. Rodrik and Maron refused to play with either of them anymore, unless it was out of a desire to mock them. Besides, the two were already helping with the docks. 

“Shit!” He slewed his curse at the sea sunrise over the sea. Yara only laughed harder to hear his squeaky voice in such rage. “It’s only because my arm is sore.”

“You haven’t even started your training with Rodrick and Maron today! You don’t get to complain.” Yara smiled and knelt down, spitting into her hands and running them over her little brother’s cheeks to clear the sand from his face. 

“I hate training!” He swatted her hands away. "It's too hard. I want to stay here by the sea all day." 

"You have to learn to fight. It's your duty to defend the Iron Islands." She reached down for another rock that was warmed by the sun. Thumbing it between her fingers, she measured up the distance of the nearest dried fish on the shore. Yara lobbed her rock and it cracked against the rotting fish skull. She looked over expectantly to her little brother for praise but all he did was plop down to the sand, his arms wrapped around his knees and pressed to his sour face. "Come on, Theon. It can't be all that bad. You’re ironborn." 

“Ironborn, but I’ll never be Lord of the Iron Islands.”

“Who told you that?” 

“Rodrick and Maron.” 

“They don’t know that. Maybe both of them will go mad and think to marry a shark and not be able to make heirs.” Her baby brother didn’t change his scowl. “Keep training with them, then you’ll get better.” 

“I don’t want to. I never get a choice.” Her words didn't seem to strike anything in his heart; he continued to scowl, blue eyes dampening. It felt like he saved all his whining for her, knowing that neither Rodrick, Maron, Father, nor Mother would stand for such complaining. Still, she sat down next to him. 

“That’s what duty is. It’s about doing what you don’t want to because it’s better for your people. You think I like my duty? Waiting around to be married off and shit out babies?” 

Theon's face cracked a grin. Smiling back at him, she poked him in the stomach causing him to break out giggling. He gave her a shove which knocked her to the sand; she played along with his attempts to wrestle her down to the sand. 

"For someone who sounds so hesitant to marry, you sure are making a good broodmother!" Rodrick’s voice chattered above their tussling. He and Maron had leapt down from the docks and were sauntering up to their two younger siblings on the beach. 

"Shut up, Rod!" Yara flung sand at him from her position on the ground to which he made a dramatic show of avoiding, leaving Maron the main target as he sputtered out curses. Theon snickered until Rodrick glared at him.

"What fighters our brothers are. Can't even dodge wet sand." Yara smirked, standing up and tossing her hair of sand. Her mother had been persistent at her keeping it long, but once she realized she'd have to hide every knife in the whole Iron Islands, she conceded. Her father only found it amusing. 

"As if you could do better Yara!" Maron aimed a kick at her shins which she took with a grunt. Maron was at least nice enough to still hit her back. “You little shit!” He directed his attention at the giggling Theon when Yara had maneuvered out of his reach.

"I know you don't play with me anymore because you can’t take losing." Yara smirked. 

“We don’t have time to play around like kids anymore,” Rodricks voice set in a tad less humored tone. “None of us do. Father is planning great things for the Iron Islands, it’s our part to stop acting like children and be a part of it. That includes you, Theon.” His words of concern were clouded by his deprecating tone. “And you, sister.” 

Sheepishly, Theon nodded and slunk out from behind his sister as Rodrick motioned him over with his head. Yara glowered at his taunt; the way he called spoke 'sister' was a weapon against her. 

“Do you speak for Father now?” she spoke, furrowing her eyebrows low. 

Rodrick met her eyes with a sneering gaze which she didn’t break. “I carry his message personally. Theon needs to start his sessions today, as do you back at Pyke.” 

Away Theon was ushered away from her back towards the piers with his brothers. She turned, aggressively plodding to the island’s castle, numb to the whip of the wind across the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow I realized I uploaded the unedited version of this chapter. what a train wreck, sorry about that! It's now the correct version


	3. Age Thirteen

The Black Wind was prepared to sail out of port, along with all the best ships they could afford. The feast from the night before had the whole island in good spirits well into the next morning. Men planted deep kisses on their wives and children before boarding the ships, slewing curses and jovial insults to their fellow crewmates. Today was the day the rebellion would start; no longer would the Iron Islands be saddled with the burdens of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father had spent years planning their raid, their best priests giving offerings to the Drowned God daily, and her brothers Rodrick and Maron training viciously to lead their own section of the fleet. 

“I’ll write to you.” Their father laid a kiss on their mother’s forehead, then clapped a hand on Yara and Theon’s shoulders. “Listen to your mother, Yara. And you listen to both of them, Theon.” 

After their brother’s had allowed a single kiss from their mother to their heads, they said their goodbyes to their younger siblings. Maron and her exchanged a firm, clasping handshake. “Expect us back as princes, little Yara and baby Theon.” 

Rodrick gave her a nod with only a slight twitch of his mouth. He had grown into an adept fighter even at his young age. Despite being her blood, and she would have shed her own to defend him, she was glad to see him go; his cruelty had only escalated over the three years and although she had learned greatly from his lessons, Theon could barely defend himself. 

“What is dead may never die.” Her father spoke.

“What is dead may never die.” The three Greyjoy’s left on land answered back, echoing behind their mother’s stronger voice. 

With nothing left to spectate, the women left behind, coddling their babes in their arms dispersed back to daily work. Yara followed her brother and mother back up the rocky crags, but kept stealing glimpses back to the Black Wind disappearing on the sea.   
\--------

Yara laid awake in her bed, eyes locked on her window. The treated wooden shutters shook from the strength of the winds. She wondered how her father’s ships were fairing all the way in the Southern seas; hopefully the wind was less threatening where he was. 

Suddenly, she jolted her attention to the creaking of her door. Yara shoved herself out of bed and searched in the darkness for anything to defend herself. She was ready to fight for her life using her fists alone when, from the torch lights in the hall, she saw the face of her baby brother peeking out from behind the door.  
“Are you awake?” Theon whispered.

“What do you think?” Yara let out a breath, her heart returning to a normal pace. “Why are you sneaking around at night? Scared of the storm, are you?” 

“I am not scared of storms!” Theon hissed, his voice getting a bit to loud for a whisper. The room was suddenly brightened as lightning cracked outside of Pyke. Theon jumped up at the sound, his eyes wide and glowing in the brief light.

Yara smiled, huffing out a laugh through her nose. “You’re right to be scared of storms. I am.”

As an answer, Theon padded towards room’s main window. He walked through as if it was his room still, even though it was her who had won it over him. As long as he didn’t start moving his wardrobe back in, her annoyance could be put aside for now. As he reached the window, his features became more clearly defined by the yellow light of the storm. Yara noticed how he’d grown; no longer did he need to stand of his toes to see. 

“Have you seen any of father’s letters recently?”

Yara knelt near the window next to him, resting her head on her folded arms on the sill. “There are no letters to see. Mother hasn’t gotten a raven in weeks.” 

“I wish I could have gone with them.” 

“Me to.” 

“I’ve been training, I know how to work on a ship and aim a bow nearly as good as Maron. I want to do my duty to the Iron Islands, how can I do it when I’m stuck at Pyke?” 

“Aiming better than Maron doesn’t say much,” Yara elbowed him, which caused him to grab his arm in a yelp he caught in his throat. “You flinched, why did you flinch? Have you been getting beat again, Theon?” 

“Taggie threw fish guts at me, so I pushed him.” 

“Didn’t seem like you won.” Yara glanced at him with concerned skepticism. 

“Only because I slipped on the fish guts.”

“I should of been there, would have had Taggie kissing the bloody dirt.” 

“He would sure be mad if he got beat by a girl.” Theon’s high pitched voice snickered. 

Yara huffed, sinking deeper into her arms and lowering out at the churning sea. This was the first time Theon had ever pointed out her womanhood. He may not have whispered behind her back about her inelegance, as she heard greasy grown men and sour faced women do, but this hurt more. Evidently he had been learning more than just weapon techniques from Rodrick and Maron. 

“Blood protects blood,” Yara stiffly answered, hearing her mother’s calm authority in her mind. 

“Blood protects blood.” Theon repeated, nodding in agreement. There was a burning in his eyes when he connected them with her’s, melting through some of her spitefulness. His spirit still matched that of the squawling babe she knew for over half her life. Restless, annoying, and naive, which was far better than near all the men she knew. 

They looked out towards the rumbling sky. She was reminded of how she would weather storms when Theon and her still shared a room; tracking Theon’s breaths, she would picture each breath as the walls of Pyke growing in strength, as if his air alone could push back the stone against the god’s wind. Thinking of it now, the familiarity soothed her. A stupid thought only born of how tired you are, Yara chided herself. Her eyes were near closing when Theon’s voice again caught her from her sleep.

“Yara…” 

“Hm.”

“Are those father’s ships?”  
\--------

Their father returned to the iron shore after the Baratheon and Stark men had finished chewing through Pyke. The Greyjoy banners were torn, and all of the remaining Iron Fleet creaked and ached into port with scuffed sails and singed wood. They mustered little fight against the invaders.

Maron never made it back to the Iron Islands. He was slain in battle by a wolf’s sword through his belly and his body dumped into the sea along with thousands of others. Rodrick’s head was cleaved on the island shores in an execution by a Barathon general; she watched. Yara watched when Theon was taken aboard a Stark ship; he cried and his nose ran when he was pulled from their mother’s arms. It took all her strength to keep herself by her mother’s side instead of ripping at the eyes of the man who ushered him away. It was her who needed to protect her baby brother; how could she protect him so far from the sea, so far from her? Now she was left here with hands bare to the salty winds without her baby brother holding on to them. Left here in the bitter air where her older brothers’ should have stood. And now the wolves have left, with a belly full of Greyjoy blood.

“What is dead may never die.” Her father’s voice was tight as he firmly gripped her shoulder. 

“What is dead may never die.” Yara tried to keep her voice from wavering as she bit into her lip. With his hand firmly on her shoulder, the remaining Greyjoy’s returned to Pyke. She wanted to run from the grey stone walls, run all the way back to the sea and keep running until she reached Theon or drowned, to see Maron and even Rodrick again. She didn’t want to be alone with their memories as she let her father lead her; past the guard tower all three had used ship rope to scale down from, past the cook’s chambers where Theon and her had burned themselves on the boiling fire, past the stairs which led to her and Theon’s room which she had always complained about sharing. 

She wasn’t brought back to the present until her hands were weighted down by a wooden training ax. It had no warmth like her brother’s hand, but there was nothing left to hold. Yara bit her lip hard, until the tang of salty blood was on her tongue. Around her she became aware that her father had brought her to the weaponry; she could smell the oil and burning metal. 

“Look at me.” Her father commanded. She complied. She searched for anything in her father’s face. It was the solidity of his dark eyes that held her. “You are Yara Greyjoy, as much a seed of mine as any of your brothers. And the seed of mine will forever be the Lord of Pyke.” 

“I’ve never trained...” She choked out. She may have grown into a fighter, throwing punches and kicks to her brother’s and other boys, but with swords and knives she never done more than fooled with her brother’s after their sessions. 

“Aye, but man and woman always have a duty. And this,” He wields his ax out before him, the iron seeming larger than ever before. “Is your duty now.” 

Yara nodded stiffly, clenching her jaw. She would hold down the lump in her throat despite it choking her, she would keep her tears even if her eyes burned, and she would do her duty to the Iron Islands. She was ready to spit and curse and scream.


	4. Age Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual content here, mainly just vulgar words and nasty thoughts.

Unlike the lords on the mainland, lords of the ironborn didn’t shelter themselves in their castles and wait to be served on. In the Iron Islands, if you wanted ale you went to the ale halls, and ale was what Yara wanted. They had all gotten back from a near failure of a raid that, amazingly, left none dead. That alone was worth celebrating and, along with the zeal of returning back from the sea after being gone weeks, even those with high constitutions had a hardy appetite.

“Captain, we beg you to share a drink with us! None of us would be breathing here without ya!” Yara’s crewmate Ty bellowed as he and a bundle of other returning ironborn made their way down the planks from ships to docks. 

“Breathing in salt water maybe. But I’m no captain yet.” Yara wiped sweat from her forehead, a grin on her face.

“I wouldn’t count on that after today,” Behind her the gravely old voice of Santon spoke as he clapped her on the shoulder walking past. “But the ale houses you go to are not fit for a Lady, Ty.” 

“That would make me a Lady and a Captain. Where I go is where I see fit to go, and that’s all of the Iron Islands. Even the whorehouses Ty must visit to get a look at some tits!”” She huffed. Although it was with the older crew like Santon that she owed much too, (many had known her since childhood and provided a level of support she couldn’t have survived without), they annoyed her with their coddling sometimes. Yara had been assisting her father in overseeing the islands and leading raids for years now. She had killed men and fucked men and drank with men yet they regarded her as fragile. In ways her younger crewmates were far more enjoyable; they were brash and when they spoke ill of her, they spoke with no subtlety, so with no subtlety she would challenge them. And beat them. 

Ty and the rest of her close crew hollered in approval. With avidity, the traditional festivities of a successful raid returning home began. Yara felt no awkwardness drinking with her men. Her name and position as the only Greyjoy heir on the island had given her a chance; her tenacity and capability earned her a place on the Iron Fleet. Still, even on her way as she jested with her crewmates Yara knew the men and women scoffed at her. A boy crassly remarked on her unwomanly stench, an older maid muttered about she’d sour her womb acting as she did. It was when a man hissed under his breath that her fist clenched. “Dressing as one and fighting as one doesn’t make one as strong as a man.” He snarled from within a doorway.

“..and I tell you,” Hower’s pitched voice cut in as he gestured wildly with his arms.. “the shark’s jaws were wider than a man tall! Eyes the size of a head and teeth longer than a hand!” 

“But you’ve been known to overestimate size.” Yara raised her brow, pushing his arm out of her way. The laughter from her crewmates drowned out any of the murmering insults around her. Still, she knew that didn’t stop the words from being said.

Old Filly’s was already filled with patrons thirsty for duel pleasures: ale and sex. As Yara sat with her crewmates, she could feel the sideways looks of both patrons and whores. She leaned back in her chair, propping her boots up on the table. Brushing a finger under her nose, she returned any stares with a brash smile. This served to drift away most of the men’s eyes, however did little to stifle the women’s attention. They would stare no matter what she did, mind as well give them something to stare at.

_Tis just like other taverns in any port. Same lantern light, same alcohol, same drunken fools. But different women…_ Despite Yara’s reasoning to herself, she wasn’t dumb to her actual reason for insisting she went. For long she had watched her fellow ironborn saunter to the brothels and scoop up women in their arms. In bed at night her thoughts were possessed by these moments; when she would shove Ty against the wall and they would rip each other’s ragged clothes off, her mind had started to wander to those women. What must it feel for a man to fuck a woman? What would it feel like to have tits pressed so close to your body you might suffocate?  
“Hello there, little pearls.” Hower purred at three women who flounced over to their table, each with a platter of ale in hand. Yara tracked their approaching coy smiles, following their braids down to their bouncing tits, the golden bangles, and glass beads that caught her ear like a siren song. 

“You know I love seeing my men from the Iron Fleet.” One of the women with intricate braids in her long brown hair then looked over, blushing, as she saw Yara staring. “Oh, forgive me my lady! I didn’t- we hadn’t expected you.” 

“I take no offense,” Yara took a mug of ale, meeting the eyes of the dark haired woman with freckled skin. The woman’s eyelashes batted down, half closing her eyes. Those were the same sort of sweet eyes that pulled her mind from whatever boy she was playing with, the same eyes that start a burning in her belly. 

“Now our Lady Reaper shows a shred of modesty!” Laughed a crewmate as he grabbed a woman for his lap. 

“Perhaps the one thing Yara can not brave through is those of her own like!” Ty smirked playfully. 

“I go where I fucking want and I handle far more than you fucking can.” She knew her skin burned further red as she scowled, hating their jabs at her dignity. Not modest enough to prove herself a woman and not brave enough to be respected as a man. Averting her gaze, she took in the lofty aroma of the ale. 

“Aye, and that’s why I have such great admiration for you, Lady Greyjoy.” Spoke the dark haired maid, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’ve seen you walk past, returning from your great exploits. I’ve always wanted to hear of them straight from your mouth.”

“Worried they haven’t been keeping the truth with you?” Yara asked.

“I don’t believe much of the talk from men with ale,” She said in a whisper, leaning closer. Yara could smell her flowery perfume on her skin; each breath Yara drew made her heart thump louder.

“And you’d trust a woman?” 

“Depends what a woman asks of me.” Her leg was now kneeling on the chair, body framing in Yara. Her dark eyes glittered in the torch light, inviting, mischievous, and lusty. “And what does this woman ask of me?” 

“What is your name?” Yara asked. The question sounded damn foolish, but she was at a loss for what else to say. _What was even said in brothels?_

“Rin,” she smiled with a raised brow, signalling that she had caught Yara’s uncertainty in her voice. “Have you ever heard the tale of the Far Sea Siren?”

Yara cocked a smile. “No.” She reached her hand slowly to Rin’s hip. Rin sank into the touch, pouring herself onto Yara’s lap.

“She was a woman from far across the sea. No one knew where she hailed from, whether she was from a rich family or poor family, or even had any family at all.” Rin’s voice purred, and she wrapped her arms around Yara’s shoulders. This tipped her hips further into Yara’s; the pressure caused a rush of heat in her belly. She hoped she would never stop moving those rose lips. “The Far Sea Siren would travel from island to island, on her ship her crew was only women. She didn’t care her ship was peculiar as she had been blessed with a ship stronger than that of any mortal man’s. Wherever she docked, the women would flock to her. Married woman would run from their husbands after one look at her, knowing the Siren would love them greater than any man could. As a woman she could give them something a man could not. And she loved them, as a man loves a wife but ten fold. Do you know how a woman loves another woman, Lady Greyjoy?” 

“I have wondered that,” Yara pressed Rin’s hips even closer into her’s. The sensations within her body didn’t feel any different from when she touched a man, but not feeling any throbbing cock against her skin drove her curiosity. She felt an intensity with with the subtlety of a woman’s sexual longing. _Had she wondered that? Only for the last three weeks at sea._

“Would you like to wonder no longer?” Rin brushed her curls off her chest, showing her soft neck and plump breasts. Yara breathed out heavily, anticipation fogging within her head as the objects of her desires were close enough to kiss now. By the Drowned God, she wanted to do everything she head the men do in their vulgar stories, along with everything she had pictured in her bed at night. She followed after her heat forward, planting a kiss on the base of her neck. When Rin let out a light murmer that rumbled her skin, Yara could not keep back. As she traveled down her body, she tasted the skin around her tits. How soft and warm and delightfully tender tits were; she wanted to get lost and beg to never go back. A forceful touch pushed down between her thighs. Even just through her trousers, that made her cunt wet. She sucked a deep kiss on Rin’s breast to quite the moan in her throat. 

“Lady Greyjoy,” Rin’s playful voice eagerly drew Yara’s attention. She looked up as the other cupped her hands around her face. “Would you be my siren for the night?” 

“Aye,” She was about to turn herself back to the wonderful bodily treats before her when Rin spoke again.”

“Away from the prying eyes of others is customary.” 

Yara glanced over to her crewmates, becoming suddenly aware of their looks on her. Most had succumbed to the charms of the women, their thirst greater than whatever novelty Yara was. Ty looked in confusion, his jaw gapped down mid drink of ale. Thankful she could grow no redder, she cocked a grin at him and carried it over to Rin. “I’m paying for a full night.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know many details in this will not match up with the books; this is based solely on the show's canon and my speculation based off of it. Thank you for reading :)


End file.
